First Day
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: Phillip's first day in prison, before he ever meets Steven Russel or any of that stuff happens.


Nick: I really have no excuse for this. I really love this movie, and I really love the character Phillip Morris as Ewan McGregor portrays him (just clarifying because I don't know the real Phillip Morris or what he might be like). Of course, that means I do mean things to him. I have to, it's in my make-up.

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That's all them

Rated: T...language, mild prison violence

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><p>Looking back on what he did, Phillip couldn't really understand why he deserved <em>this<em>. He hadn't stolen the car or sold it in parts as scrap metal. He fully intended on returning it, in fact he did. That was how he got caught in the first place. Of all of the mistakes he'd made in his entire life, he regretted that one the most. He remembered his first day in prison with terribly accurate detail.

When he came in—pillow, blanket and TP held in his arms—his new cellmate was taking a leak. Phillip looked at the bunks and put his things on the bottom, which was open. His stomach was doing loop di loops and he couldn't force his own jaw to loosen. He mused that the sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl was like a metaphor for his life so far, and he wasn't sure today could suck any worse.

He should have knocked wood.

His cellmate, 202483, finished up and turned, but Phillip wasn't sure if he should look up at him or not. This whole experience was new to him. If he was on a different planet, like in Star Trek or something, he would have felt more at home. Suddenly, he thought of Mr. Spock and Captain Kirk locked up in a Nazi jail in that one episode. He breathed out a soft laugh and that made him feel better.

"First time?" 202483 asked.

Starting slightly, Phillip glanced up out of the corner of his eye. "Uh, yeah…" The guy had dark hair, but very pale skin, and a mustache that looked a bit like pubic hair. He didn't look like a very nice man—this was _jail_—but Phillip wasn't one to judge. He extended his arm uncertainly. "My name is Phillip Morris."

"I don't really give a fuck about that."

Phillip tried not to feel too taken aback. "Okay," he said. Keeping his head down, he could feel 202483's eyes on him.

People said things about prison. Joking around at work, commenting on news reports, people talked about things that happened in prison. When he was still a free man, Phillip wondered about these things with a grim, half-disgusted sense of curiosity. On the bus ride over here, he did his very best to forget everything he'd heard. It didn't really work, especially because now his mind raced.

202483 crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back against the wall across from the bunks. It wasn't really that far away, and he was still staring at Phillip. "You a faggot?" 483 asked.

Tensing sharply, Phillip otherwise ignored him. He picked up his pillow and started to unfold his sheet. His hands were shaking, fingers oddly cold. He took deep breaths and blinked a couple times because crying right now would probably have been a bad idea.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" 483 snarled like a rabid Chihuahua and grabbed Phillip's arm. With a sharp yank, he sent Phillip stumbling against the bunk's ladder and then to the floor.

Clutching the back of his head where it slammed against the metal, Phillip tried to get back on his feet. He remembered one of the crazy guys on the bus telling him that if he got into a fight he should fight back. First, he had to stand up, and that was really hard when he couldn't see straight. "What!" he snapped. The pain in his voice made it sound stronger than he felt.

A pale hand came out of the haze of Phillip's blurry vision and gripped a handful of his collar. Suddenly, his back was pressed into the bars and 202483 was right in his face. His mustache practically tickled Phillip's nose.

"Are. You. A faggot?"

Unsure what to say, Phillip just blinked, trying to clear his vision. As far as he was concerned, he was _not_ a…that word. He disliked that word about as much as he disliked murderers and rapists. He was homosexual, gay, even queer, but he did not use _that word_. With that in mind, he set his jaw and looked away. "Fuck off," he mumbled.

Phillip Morris went to the infirmary for a concussion and two broken ribs on his first day in prison.


End file.
